


Four Days

by rexisnotyourwriter



Category: Broadchurch, Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Character Death, College, F/M, Fluff and Angst, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 15:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5338784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexisnotyourwriter/pseuds/rexisnotyourwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his college days, Alec Hardy fell in love with a girl named Rose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Days

**Author's Note:**

> Brief, non-graphic mentions of a shooting/hostage situation.

It had been four days since he last shaved. He would wake up in the mornings and stare at himself in the mirror, leaning on the counter to get a closer look at what was supposed to be his reflection. He barely recognized himself anymore, but it had little to do with the state of his facial hair.

He was glad he didn’t have a roommate, nobody to ask him what was wrong or tell him to cheer up. He’d probably smack them if they did. The state of his dorm room though looked like it housed at least two people, if not three. It was a mess; clothes strewn about the floor, an empty pizza box in the corner buried under a variety of take out boxes and empty microwavable meal packages. On the bed were a number of packing boxes, only one of which was mostly full. He had a lot of work to do.

It had been four days since he decided to drop out of school. He was barely finished his first semester, but he couldn’t stay. Not here.

He had been stupid enough to enrol in an intro to Psychology course. He had always hated being around people; he felt awkward and never knew what to say, and anytime he thought he did, he always ended up saying something wrong, or saying it the wrong way. Maybe understanding psychology could help with that. He wanted to make an effort at least.

He had failed the midterm. Part of him had wanted to blame it on the girl one row in front and slightly to the left of him, but he knew he just wasn’t understanding the material. She certainly was distracting though, by no fault of her own - the way she ran her fingers through her hair when it was down, or how she twirled the ends of it when they were in braids or a ponytail were particularly distracting. The most distracting of all though was her big toothy smile.  

 She was brilliant, too. At least to him. He saw that she had gotten near perfect on her midterm. If she didn’t look so sweet, he might have been jealous.

It was that day, the day they got their midterms back, that he found out her name was Rose. _Of course her name is Rose_ , he remembered thinking to himself when she had said it. She was delicate and beautiful, but there was an edge to her; you could prick your fingers if you weren’t careful - with someone as lovely as she, how could you be anything but? 

She had almost tripped over his bags when she was leaving class. He had left the strap sprawled out on the step beside him. He half caught her when she stumbled, mortified that he’d been so careless, but she just laughed. They walked out of class together and made their introductions. They talked about the midterm. She went on about how much she loved the class; she was so passionate. She had asked how he felt about it. He said not great. She said she’d be happy to help him out with anything. He smiled. They exchanged numbers.

It wasn’t until the class the week after that he had gotten up the courage to ask if she would maybe go over the assignment with him, just to make sure he was on the right track. She said of course. He felt his knees weaken when she smiled. He just looked at his torn up shoes and laughed awkwardly.

_Why am I such an idiot?_

They met later that afternoon in his dorm. He spent most of the day making it look presentable, and he stocked up on drinks for his mini fridge. They sat on his bed; she politely pointed out the errors he had made and suggested how to correct them without telling him the answer. It took a while for him to get it, but she was patient. When they were done, he asked if she was hungry. She was famished. They went to her favourite chippy about three blocks away. It was their first date. She kissed his cheek goodnight after he walked her back to her room. When he got home he spent almost twenty minutes admiring the faint lipstick mark she’d left on his face.

By the following, week they were holding hands in the halls and finding secret places to snog between classes. One time they ended up in a cleaning closet and couldn’t find the light, but they didn’t need it. She felt for the button on his jeans; he wrapped his arms up and around under her shirt for the clasp of her bra. Their hands were their eyes.  After they had dressed again and stepped back out, sneakily, they turned to look at each other and burst out laughing. Her hair was a mess, stray bobby pins sticking out, and he had buttoned his shirt all wrong so that one side was longer than the other.

They both just shrugged, still laughing, and made their way to class, hand in hand.  When her hand was locked in his, it felt whole - like he had been missing that part of him his entire life and didn’t realize it until now.

It had been four days since he laughed. It was in the morning after they had their Psychology final. Rose’s tutoring had actually helped him. He wasn’t getting marks like hers, although he was doing better than just barely passing. She was proud, but her pride was all directed at him and not at her teaching (which is what he credited infinitely more than his own ability). She said she just had to go to the bank and get some things sorted out, but they’d meet up later for dinner. He had to go back to his room and shower anyways. He’d overslept this morning and didn’t want to be late for the exam. She asked how he had felt about it, and for once he actually felt pretty good.

 _Maybe you’ll be a psychiatric doctor one day_ , she had teased. He laughed. _Me? A doctor?_ He gave her a quick kiss before they parted ways.

He played that moment over in his head a thousand times, each time hating himself more and more for not kissing her harder, holding her longer, telling her he loved her. He hadn’t had a chance to say it yet, but he’d felt it since their first date.

He wished he was better with words. If only.

He didn’t see it on the news until a couple hours later as he was walking to pick up Rose. It was playing on all the TVs in the lounge. There had been a robbery; well, it had started as a bank robbery, but it soon turned into a hostage situation. The shooter had killed three people inside before the police came and shot him. It was over now, but it was all everyone was talking about. Based on the brief clip he overheard on the TV, it sounded like the police weren’t on the ball if they had been, those people might not have died.

He knocked on Rose’s door. Her roommate answered, her face red and puffy with black streaks of mascara from her eyes to her chin. He asked if Rose was in. She started sobbing. He was confused. She was crying so hard she couldn’t speak. He tried to ask what was wrong. She sort of gestured that he could come in, and she sat on the bed. He stood and looked at her, waiting for words of clarity. She took some deep breaths and calmed herself enough to say “Rose,” “bank,” and “gun”. He didn’t need another word.

It had been four days since Rose had died. He hated everything. He hated the school. He hated his room. He hated chips. He hated the gunman. He hated the police. He hated what he didn’t do.

He hated what he couldn’t change.

There was nothing left here for him anymore; everything was just another thorn sticking into his flesh. A reminder.

He applied to the police academy. God knows they could use some competent people there.

He finished packing up his belongings. When he was done, he inspected the room one more time, looking in all the nooks and crannies and drawers to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. He found six bobby pins on the floor by his bed. He sat in the corner for a while, turning them over in his hands, remembering how he’d picked them out of her messed up hair after they had made love for the first time. They still smelled like her shampoo.

He stood up, wiped his eyes, and stuffed them into his pocket. He stacked as many boxes as he could carry and went to his car.

It had been four days since his life changed.


End file.
